


A Friend Like You

by Space_Cadet_Blues



Series: Blood and Stone [3]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Anal Sex, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mage Connor, Magic, Werewolf Courting, connor is a brat, werewolf Hank
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-24 15:53:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21980497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Space_Cadet_Blues/pseuds/Space_Cadet_Blues
Summary: Connor of Embershade takes a walk on the wild side.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Series: Blood and Stone [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1582276
Comments: 3
Kudos: 144





	A Friend Like You

They set up camp in the usual fashion. Connor lazily unpacking things via magic and Hank clucking disapprovingly. He admires a little back break in the labour. Connor just wants to sip his tea and read before the sun goes down.

Once their tent is pitched (Connor's doing) and the fire pit is constructed (Hank's doing), Connor sets a fire with a wave of his hand - without looking up from his book.

Hank huffs.

But he says nothing now. He's behaving. There's something that he wants.

Near to the full moon he acts a little strange and there's usually one thing on his mind. He'll go quiet, like he's run out of words, and he'll stick close, closer than necessary.  
If they are with company he becomes more alert, protective even. He puts himself in between Connor and anyone showing too much interest in his pretty face. He gets particularly uppity if the ones showing interest are men of his own stature.

Hank thinks Connor doesn't know his secret. And Connor is content to let things be for now. 

Besides. It's really not all that bad holding Hank’s attention all to himself. This way they can both get what they need from each other.

Connor rolls out a particular white fur rug between the tent entrance and the fire and sets his boots next to it. Hank sits on the rotting trunk of a fallen tree opposite, trying very hard not to look at Connor over the crackling flames. He knows why Connor has brought out the rug.

Connor unties the lace on his tunic, slowly and methodically removing his clothes. He folds them and lays them neatly next to his boots and once naked, stretches out on the rug, enjoying the tickle of soft fur against his skin.

The stars are bright above him and he mentally tracks the constellations while he waits for Hank's libido to take over. Which should be any moment now.

He'll catch Connor's scent on the wind and be drawn to him. 

At least Connor thinks that's how it works. Not too many books on werewolf behaviour. They tend to be murdered on sight.

Hank comes to stand at the edge of the rug by Connor's feet, the orange light of the fire reflecting off of his worn silver breastplate, the heavy drape of his deep black cloak making him look bigger than he already is. A mountain in the dark.

Connor knows if he were to get up close, he'd be able to see flecks of gold in the ice blue of Hank's irises. As it stands, only a slither of blue remains, the colour has been swallowed up by the black of his expanded pupils.  
Connor has no doubt that Hank would be able to see him perfectly by the light of the stars alone. 

Connor smiles at him, drawing his knees up to make more of a show of splaying them, beckoning Hank closer with a wink.

Hank wordlessly shucks his armour after laying his cloak over Connor. He does this every time. Connor doesn't think he means this negatively, as though Connor should cover up. It's something about covering Connor in something that's his. Possibly to do with scent.

Connor feels as though he should maybe take slight offense. He's travelled far and wide to escape being "claimed" and becoming someone's prized possession. But this isn't like that. A part of him likes the fact that Hank wants him all to himself. Wants to claim Connor like this.

Connor nuzzles into the cloak breathing in Hank's scent; earth and wood and fire. His fingers curl into the material and he watches the rest of Hank's ritualistic disrobing. It's something that sets a thrum of pleasure low in his belly. The waiting and the wanting.  
Hank is a lot less gentle with his clothes and armour as he drops them to the earth. But by the time he's naked it's not the forefront of Connor's mind.

He takes in Hank's form, broad and strong, hard in places and soft in others Connor knows from experience. He's touched almost every inch of that body.

He eyes Hank's cock which hangs thick, heavy and half hard between his legs. Connor licks his lips and does something he hasn't done before. He submits. Or attempts to at least. He's curious about Hank's desire for him being fuelled by the changes his body is about to make.

If there are to be books on the ferocious nature of werewolves, there should be documentation on moments like this and everything leading to it. The soft mating rituals. The desire to care and provide.

Rolling onto his belly Connor cautiously rises onto his hands and knees, and keeping his head low he peers back at Hank. 

Hank kneels, his movements slow and controlled as though Connor might spook and go running off into the forest.

Hank reaches out to touch his back and Connor shivers at the contact, Hank's skin is hot, a stark contrast to the cool forest air. Connor can't help the soft noise that tumbles from his mouth as Hank's hand travels over the smooth plane of his back.

Hank moves closer and the hand that now rests between Connor's shoulder blades applies gentle pressure. 

Connor complies, lowering himself a little more but keeping his hips elevated.  
Once Hank is happy with his position Connor feels two probing fingers at his slick hole - he'd picked up on his needy vibes earlier and had gotten himself ready when Hank had gone hunting.

Though he hadn't had much time. Hank can't stand to be away from him for too long in this state. He acts as though another male might swoop in and whisk Connor away from him. Fat chance of that happening. There's only one ridiculously endearing and clingy male on Connor's mind.

The slight stretch as Hank sinks two fingers into him is a welcome one. It's just the right amount of friction to get him going. His cock is slowly filling out but he refuses to touch it. Wants to get his pleasure from whatever Hank decides to do with him.

The fingers move in and out drawing soft pleasured sighs from Connor's mouth. Everything about Hank is so big. Even taking his fingers is a lot but it's nothing he can't handle. Even if it takes him a little to get there.

During their first time he had been eager to get Hank inside him but had panicked thinking that Hank might not fit.   
Hank had drawn out the foreplay in response, fingering him using plenty of slick for so long that Connor had been completely lost in pleasure.

He'd sobbed and begged and by the time Hank was sinking into him the way he wanted he hadn't lasted very long at all.   
Now he knows they fit together, that Hank will be careful with him.

Hank's thick thighs slot alongside his own and Connor feels Hank's free hand sliding along his side and then over his chest. Calloused fingers brush over his left nipple which hardens under the touch. Connor whimpers, the sensation shooting straight to his cock.

Hank knows how sensitive his chest is. How Connor can almost come just from having his nipples played with. So his touch is slow, measured with the ebb and flow of Connor's arousal. It's almost scary how Hank takes him to the edge and then pulls him back with such control.

It's maddening too. His fingers pinch and rub intermittently, one nipple and then the next, heightening the sensation of Hank stimulating his prostate. It's only when needy whimpers and sobs are spilling from Connor's mouth that Hank retreats.

Both hands move to his hips in a firm caress that makes Connor sob and present himself more, fingers curling into the soft fur of the rug. 

"Hank, please," he whispers.

There's no preamble. Hank doesn't hesitate or tease. One moment Connor is empty and aching the next Hank is pushing into him inch by thick inch. 

Connor sobs into the fur placing his left hand on his left cheek, feeling the stretch.  
Hank is breathing hard already, worked up from simply touching Connor. He leans over Connor's back the sharp point of his canines pricking the skin at the base of neck, his gut pressing against the small of Connor's back. Hank's cock slides deep and Connor whimpers. He feels consumed, utterly devoured already, skin burning under Hank's warm body. 

"Gods, Hank. Yes," Connor moans. 

Hank gives a low groan verging on a growl, a sound that reverberates deeply in his chest. Connor shivers and sighs in satisfaction.  
Hank takes his weight off of him, large hands holding his hips as he works up a rhythm that has Connor drooling into the rug and whispering Hank's name like a prayer. 

Connor's magic blooms bright within him. It unfurls and reaches into the dark around them, blooming Moonflowers and primroses. His senses heighten, he can hear small animals in the undergrowth, the creak of trees, the footfalls of nearby insects. Above it all is the wild pounding of Hanks heart. His soft grunting as he pushes into the tight warmth of Connor's body over and over.

"Hank," he sobs, tears pricking his eyes. It's good, so good. 

One of Hank's hands slides to his chest and eases him up until his back is pressed tight against Hank's chest. Their sweaty skin sticking together. Hank nuzzles the crook of Connor's neck and Connor tips his head back onto his shoulder, baring his skin to Hank. He holds Hank’s arm with both hands, still avoiding touching himself. His cock bobs with every thrust, hard and leaking but it doesn't matter. He'll come just from this alone.

Hank's thrusts grow harder and deeper, and the fire in the pit crackles, flaring alongside Connor's pleasure. He's shaking and twitching in Hank's grip, small harsh moans being punched out of him on every hard shove of Hank's hips.

Hank laces his fingers with Connor's over his chest and hip and bruises the pale skin of his shoulder with kisses and bites. The closer he gets to climax the more intense Hank gets. 

Hank squeezes him firmly against his body and they fit so perfectly together Connor isn't sure where Hank ends and he begins. Hank's pace is more hurried now, impatient. He groans low into Connor's hair reacting to every whine and sigh Connor makes. They move in tandem Connor desperately chasing his release and Hank ensuring they approach it together.

And just like that they connect. Their energies entwine. When Connor tips over the edge, crying out into the cool night air Hank follows. The sound he makes is heart wrenching and his canines sink into Connor's flesh where his shoulder meets his neck.  
Connor gasps, the pain only adding to the pleasure. He squeezes Hank's hands as he trembles, spilling over the rug. He can feel Hank swell, locking them together, pulsing his release inside him where he'll remain for minutes even after they are able to disconnect.

Connor sometimes wonders if it's just instinctual for him to do that or if a part of him wants something more. Something Connor can't give him. He tries not to dwell on it, content for Hank to hold him in his warm embrace for a while longer.

Hank's tongue soothes apologetically over the last bite which is already fast healing. It's not something that bothers Connor. Seeing or feeling the bites and bruises usually bring him some sort of odd satisfaction.

Hank lets go of his hands once they catch their breath and his fingers stroke Connor's damp skin, tickling his sides. Connor laughs breathlessly and tries to squirm but Hank catches him and holds him again chuckling against his ear.

"Fuck," Connor groans.

Hank hums in agreement. His head seems to be a little clearer now, sometimes his silence is unsettling but he's never anything but gentle and attentive.

When Hank finally softens and slips out if him Connor wants to slump forward, so he does, and Hank goes with him, cuddling up against his back. 

Between the fire and Hank's warm body Connor feels safe and content, his eyelids grow heavy and he drifts off when Hank scratches his fingers soothingly through his damp hair. 

***

  
When morning comes he wakes to find himself curled in the centre of the rug, covered in a fur from his pack.

Hank sits nearby humming as he prepares their breakfast over the fire. He catches Connor's eye and grins and Connor rolls his eyes. He has an ache in his lower back that will plague him for the day, but it's worth it. Of course, he won't let Hank know that.

So he turns his back on Hank's smug face to hide a smile. He closes his eyes. Maybe he'll sleep for a little while longer. He feels safe, and dare he think it, loved.


End file.
